Born of the stars

I was sixteen years old when

I learned I am not of this planet.

I remember the exact moment

everything coalesced, and I remember the 

underwhelming validation

when it clicked. 

Looking back, I would have thought there might have been

some bang,

some crash,

something beyond a whisper.

I remember all the moments

looking in the mirror and wondering

why and how I am how I am,

wondering where I came from, wondering how far I would need to go,

while always knowing

home was somewhere out amongst the stars.

Maybe I was born in the eye of a supernova,

or on the lips of a gassy nebula.

Maybe my spirit could be traced to some

long forgotten

galactic event.

Maybe I was born aboard a decaying ship fleeing

a dying planet;

out of all the ideas that have floated through my head,

maybe that last one is the most realistic:

born on a vessel escaping planetary destruction,

someone born on the run,

born in escape,

born to land where I might land and

survive

how I might survive.

Of course,

all the imagining,

all the dreaming,

all the wondering,

all the wandering of the mind

does nothing to quell the restlessness of the soul,

nor soothe the ache of loneliness.

If I was born on a starship,

where are the others?

Does anyone else feel this way?

Can anyone else look up in the sky and miss home?

Is there anyone up there looking back down and missing us?